The Sorcerer's Shadow
by Cloud-Dee
Summary: Sequel to The Hopes and Dreams. Life is returning to normal in Camelot,or as normal as life can be. Arthur still blames himself for the death of his friend but Merlin seems to disagree. He may be dead but he isn't gone. And the story is far from over...
1. Between Two Worlds

Between Two Worlds

**AN-I'm back! Hello and here I present to you the not very long awaited sequel to The Hopes and Dreams. To everyone who hasn't read it, welcome. To everyone who has, welcome back. If you haven't read my other story, I advise you do for the simple reason none of this will make sense if you don't. If you have, I hope this one lives up to expectations.**

**Firstly, this chapter I don't really count as a proper chapter. It is more a sort of introduction to the story, so it doesn't have much action in it. That's coming later I promise! This chapter is set just after chapter 8 of THAD and the others will work from there during the epilogue. All the chapters will go in chronological order but there will be couple of places where I skip a few years so the story makes sense. **

**So thank you for sticking with me all this way and I hope you enjoy the first chapter of The Sorcerer's Shadow. **

**Disclaimer- In my head, I own Merlin. But in my head I also have a flying motorbike, a pet elephant called Theo and my house is made of ice cream. So no Merlin is not, and probably never will be, mine. Unfortunately.**

Merlin wasn't alive. That of course that was obvious to all. But Merlin wasn't dead either, not quite. There was something, some inexplicable force that held him bound to the mortal world, able to see and to hear, but never to touch.

In some ways it was a relief, knowing he hadn't abandoned the ones he loved, that he could still stay and protect them. But in other ways it was maddening, being a shade hung between two worlds, not able to move on from a place where he no longer belonged.

When he had first awoken in this new, strange half-life, it had been one of the most terrifying things he had ever experienced. The last thing he could recall was the first piercing ray of sunlight breaking through his last night, then the long fall backwards into darkness. As he had fallen, he could almost feel his spirit leaving his body, that last vital connection broken forever. And as he was pulled away from his life into the darkness, he felt almost a sense of relief.

This wasn't so bad, dying. He didn't feel dead, he felt alive, more alive than he had felt in years. All the weights and responsibilities were lifting from his shoulders and he felt as light as air. Spiralling down through the void of the unknown he felt, finally, at peace. And through the black he saw a light, bright as the sun, growing stronger and stronger, pulling him in.

The light seemed to contain a power, a power he had only ever felt once before. It was not the great and ancient power he felt in the world of the living. It was stronger, but at the same time, peaceful. It was the power he had felt as he stood by the Lake of Avalon, and the gateway had opened, the doorway mortals were only supposed to see seconds before they departed life forever. Avalon, the land of eternal youth, where souls went to rest when their time on earth was over. Merlin was going to heaven.

But something was wrong. Merlin felt a tug, an inescapable pull, dragging him away from the light and the peace, back into the darkness and away from the lands of the dead where his soul belonged. It was a gift and it was a curse. Merlin could stay and protect his friends, fulfilling his destiny. But he was trapped, bound on earth and unable to move forward from this life.

Merlin had always said that his life had always been marked out by destiny and he would gladly die, if it meant Albion would live. He stayed true to his words. He did not feel bitterness or regret at being kept from finding peace in order to protect Arthur and fulfil his destiny. That was just the way it had to be.

Terror was the first emotion that he felt when he awoke to his new, unnerving existence. But the terror soon faded as understanding of what at occurred seeped in to his mind. Though he did not know how, he knew and understood everything that had come to pass, and the reasons for the events that had lead him up to today. It was as if his whole life, he had been peering through a crack in a door, catching glimpses of the path he was meant to follow, but never seeing the whole picture. But now the door had been flung wide open, and he could see his destiny laid out fully before him. And he understood.

After the terror came the acceptance. In his life, Merlin never complained or resisted what he knew was inevitable. He just accepted what was to come and moved on. It seemed even death wouldn't take that away from him.

The next feeling was sadness. Sadness at the pain he was causing. Sadness at having to watch his friends cry over his lifeless body and being powerless to stop it. He saw every one of their tears and felt every stab of grief, every drop of remorse. It was torture, watching the people he loved grieve for him when he was standing right at their shoulder, watching them cry without them having any knowledge of his presence.

After that came the joy. It was strange that, even after everything that had happened, he should feel joyful anymore. But he had been given a gift, a precious gift that few had ever had before. He had died, but he had been given a chance to see his friend again. Typical Arthur, refusing to give up even when all hope had been lost. His stubborn determination had saved them both in the end. The fact that Merlin had been allowed to stay, to remain in the land of the living seemed like a gift to them both. And for Arthur at least, it was.

But for Merlin, his greatest gift also turned into his greatest curse. He could see the world, he could hear it and even smell it. But he couldn't touch. He couldn't be heard and although he could make his presence felt, his existence seemed to be a bleak and lonely one. To be alone, caught between two words, neither living nor dead, unable to go back or to move on.

He knew that he had to stay, that he was still needed on earth to protect the land Arthur was beginning to create. And he knew if he left this life forever, he would miss his friends with all his heart. The thought was almost unbearable. But if he moved on, if his spirit could leave this world and move on to the place where souls went after they had died… How many people could he meet again?

Maybe he would see his father, to be able to know him as he had never done in life. He could see Lancelot again, apologise for not being able to save him. Will, his childhood friend who had died to save Arthur and in his last breath protected Merlin and his secret. Maybe he could even see Freya again.

But though he walked through the shadows of the mortal world, he never once caught a glimpse of the ones he most wished to see and he finally accepted that he never would.

So that was how he found himself sitting, staring out over the lake of Avalon to the mountains beyond. It was here he had buried one of his greatest friends, and the girl who had captured his heart. It was here he felt closest to the world to which he belonged, the world where his spirit yearned to go.

Gazing out over the lake, he finally allowed the emotions he had been repressing to fill him up. Even after he had died he had had to be strong, to help Arthur accept magic and fulfil his destiny. Arthur had been broken and Merlin was the only person who could fix him. The knowledge of his friend's continuing existence was all Arthur needed. But Merlin was broken too in his own way, torn between two worlds and the two sets of people he most wished to see. He had chosen Arthur and this half-life. There was no-one here to fix him.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts he did not notice the soft footsteps that drew closer from behind him. But he did notice as a gentle hand lightly touched his shoulder making him start and spin round in surprise. It was the first time he had been touched by anything since entering this new phase of his life and the feeling was unfamiliar and alien to him. Startled and unnerved he scrambled backwards, away from the figure behind him. They were framed by the soft light from the evening sky, their face cast into shadow and he couldn't make out who it was. But then a voice that was so familiar and yet so different broke into the silence and he realised who he was seeing, standing reflected by the lake where she had died.

"Hello Merlin."

"Freya." He breathed, awe filling his face and disbelief filling his being. She was almost exactly like he remembered her, the long dark hair, the kind dark eyes, and the loving smile. But she was not the terrified, lonely girl he had rescued from a cage so very long ago, but the proud, strong creature of magic who had appeared to him in his time of greatest need and saved them all.

"I've waited a long time for you Merlin. I knew some day we would meet again and though I prayed it would not be so soon, for your sake. But it's so good to see you again."

Merlin's eyes flicked over her face, taking in every detail, looking for a trick or treachery. He found none. All he saw was the girl he had fallen in love with so long ago, standing before him, as real to him as she had been in life, completely unlike the figures of the actual living were to him now.

"Freya? I thought I'd never see you again. How…?"

"You're not the only one who can stay in this world if you choose to." Freya's voice was almost teasing, tinged with amusement are Merlin's lack of understanding. "You vowed to protect Arthur, so you stayed. I promised I would repay you, one day. I'm still keeping that promise to you, like you are to Arthur."

For a minute Merlin was speechless, unsure of what he was supposed to say. But in the end all that came out was the one thing that had been aching in his heart since the day she had left.

"I missed you."

"And I you."

And without realising what he was doing, Merlin reached out and pulled Freya to him, kissing her as he had wished to do for so many years. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he pulled her closer, unwilling to ever let her go again. The dull ache in his heart, the void left when she had died, was finally filled and everything seemed to be perfect. It did not matter where she had come from or why she was here, only that she was and that he would never let her go again.

They stood together for a long time, staring into each other's faces, drinking in the sight after so long of being parted. Eventually it was Freya who broke the eye contact, reaching out and taking Merlin's hand, pulling him away from the shore and out into the lake.

For Merlin it was a very strange feeling, to be immersed in water but to not feel a thing. But he didn't care because he was here with her after so many years of waiting and everything was right again. Freya drew him further out to the water, guiding him towards the centre, all the time gazing into his eyes, smiling.

"Where are we going?" Merlin didn't wish to break the silence and the joy of seeing her again, but this was something he needed to know. It seemed an obvious question, but Freya looked bemused, not understanding why it was being asked.

"Where do you think? We're in the Lake of Avalon. And there are so many people who want to see you again. We've all been waiting so long for you to come."

She continued to walk, but Merlin had stopped, his hand falling from hers. Freya turned round and saw his face. It was not filled with love as it had been moments before, but broken and twisted with indecision and longing. He gazed into her eyes and to the lake, gateway to Avalon, then glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of Camelot, where his destiny and his friends resided.

"I can't." Merlin's voice broke on the last word, but he took a deep, calming breath, his face hardening with resolution. "I can't leave them. Not after everything that's happened. They need me, now more than ever. Morgana's still out there and destiny hasn't been fulfilled yet. I can't abandon them now, no matter how much I want to." On the last words he felt a deep, broken feeling ripping at his chest. But he had made a choice to stay to protect his friends, no matter what the cost. No matter if the cost broke his heart.

He expected to see hurt or betrayal reflected in Freya's eyes at his refusal to join her but instead all he saw was admiration, and a deep set love.

"I understand Merlin. You don't want to leave your friends, you don't want to abandon them in their time of need. That is why I love you, because of your selflessness and your loyalty. You won't leave your friends. But you don't have to. Can't you see? You are like me. We are not alive and we do not belong with the living, but nor are we dead and we do not truly belong with those who are dead. If you do not truly live but remain in the land where the living dwell, you can also be not truly dead but cross over to the land after death. You have a foot in two worlds Merlin. And that is a gift."

"You mean, I can cross between the worlds. I can see them all again. My father, Will, Lancelot…all of them. I can be with you. But I can still come back? I can still protect Arthur and Camelot like I promised?" The realisation of what this could mean was creeping into Merlin's face and his voice was filling with a new, joyful hope.

"Yes." Freya smiled and reached out to take his hand in her own gentle grasp. "Now come on. They're all waiting for you."

And Merlin allowed her to pull him out into the lake, through the gates of Avalon and into the arms of the ones he had loved and the ones he had lost.

Arthur saw Merlin on many occasions throughout his life. But sometimes he would look and Merlin wouldn't be there, Arthur couldn't feel that familiar feeling of comfort that came with his friend's presence. The first few times this happened he felt abandoned; terrified his friend had left him again. When he voiced these fears to Gaius, the old man just smiled and told him not to worry. Arthur never understood why Gaius seemed so calm and at ease with the situation, but then again, he seemed to know something Arthur didn't.

And when Arthur did see Merlin, he was not always alone. In those brief flashes of glimpsing his friend, sometimes he was sure he could see a woman standing by his side, their hands entwined in the shadows. One night, in the darkness of his room, when he was sure Merlin was listening, he asked.

"Merlin. Who is she?"

Of course, there was no answer that night, but when Arthur awoke the next morning, he found a single piece of parchment lying on his desk, a quill resting beside it and the tip still glistening with ink. Curiously, Arthur reached for the paper and looked down at it, instantly recognising the scrawling handwriting of his friend.

Her name is Freya

The words puzzled Arthur, until he remembered the question he had asked the night before, about the mysterious woman standing by the side of his friend. But if those words had puzzled Arthur, it was nothing compared to the confusion he felt at the words scribbled below. He could almost feel Merlin laughing at him for his not understanding, but he could not, and would never, figure out what his friend had meant.

You owe her a sword

**AN- So there it is! This chapter was hell to write, because I wanted to get straight to the action-y stuff but I had to introduce a few things first. So yes, Merlin can go and see everyone who has died as well as everyone who is still living if he wants to. I mean, the poor guy is stuck as a shadow on earth, invisible to his friends, he deserves some benefits.** **Also, the thing with him writing Arthur a note. That came from me realising that if Merlin can still use magic in his ghost form (which he can) then he can probably enchant a quill to write Arthur a letter. He still has ways of contacting his friend. So please drop me a review because I would love to know what you think.**

**The next chapter will be posted sometime next week. Chapters will go up once or twice a week depending on my time/inspiration/sleep deprivation. The next chapter will take place during one of Morgana's attempts to take over Camelot so it will have a bit more of Merlin and Arthur kicking some ass. Speaking of that, I was reading an interview from Johnny and Julian (creators of Merlin) and this is a direct quote from them about series/season 5.**

**"As he grows into the sorcerer of legend, Merlin seems to be more akin to his badass alter ego Emrys. You saw a glimpse of it at the end of the last series, he was becoming a much stronger, focused and powerful character. We're really interested in taking him on that journey and all the dangers and temptations it will bring, so that will be a big part of the fifth series. "**

**So it looks like we're going to be seeing a lot more BAMF!Merlin in the next series. Also in another interview, they said...**

**"An older and wiser Merlin will struggle between making some very difficult decisions and having to tread a very careful path between what is good and what is bad"**

**Who's excited! I definitely am.**

**Thanks for reading and I'll see you next week.**

**Till then..**

**Cloud-dee**


	2. Beware the Shadows

Beware the Shadows

**AN-So, after a bit longer than I expected, here is the next chapter of The Sorcerer's Shadow. This chapter was originally going to go up on Saturday but I re-read it and realised I absolutely hated it. Then, halfway through re-writing it I got sick and have been in bed with the flu for the past few days. Not fun. So after finally managing to focus my eyes long enough to see a computer screen I have managed to finish writing the chapter. And here it is.**

**It actually turned out nothing like I expected and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing yet. I'd love to know what you think. So I'm just going to go back to sleep now and hope you enjoy the chapter.**

**Cloud-dee**

**P.S Thank you so much to all the amazing people who reviewed, alerted and favourited. You're the best!**

Wind howled over the blood-soaked battlefield, whipping through the tattered banners and scraps of clothing, flashes of red from the cloaks of the fallen knights. Rain pelted down, blinding both friend and foe alike, soaking the warriors through to the skin and turning the once clean ground into a mess of churned up mud and blood. Arthur skidded and slid through the dirt, flipping his rain-soaked hair out of his face and raising his sword once more. His arms screamed in protest, the effort of moving straining his battle weary muscles to the limit.

All around him he could hear the yell and cries of the men, locked in battle around him. His men fought valiantly but every minute they were being pushed further and further backwards, back towards the great gates of Camelot and all the innocent people hiding within.

A sword swung from nowhere, heading towards Arthur's exposed neck. He ducked and brought his own weapon up to counter the blow, the clash of metal ringing in his ears, then slammed his elbow into the face of his enemy sending him tumbling to the ground. But though he may have won this small battle, though one enemy may have fallen, there were hundreds more to take his place.

And the most infuriating, maddening thing was that Arthur knew that in a normal battle his men, the knights that were at this moment dying around him, could have beaten them. If these enemies had come forward into battle wielding only swords and spears it would be them and not his men that were falling all around him.

But this was no ordinary battle. And the enemy that faced him did not only possess weapons of steel. He could see her from across the battlefield, standing motionless atop the rise before him, black dress and hair flowing in the wind, looking every inch the powerful, evil being she was. Morgana gazed down at the men before her, bringing death with a single flick of her wrist and destruction with a wave of her hand.

Arthur staggered forward again, losing his footing and sliding back down into the mud beneath him. He could feel his little remaining strength draining away, pulled from his body by the exhaustion of the fight. As if she could see him from her position above overlooking the devastation before her, Morgana smiled.

The attack had come from nowhere, completely surprised and unprovoked, but then again, she needed no provocation. The first news Arthur had heard was a patrol bursting full speed into the gates of Camelot, demanding immediately to see the king. Already the smoke from the burning outer villages was beginning to appear over the horizon of the great forest.

The knights of Camelot had risen to the challenge with the bravery that was not equalled in all of the five kingdoms. Patrols were sent out to assess the challenge and to try to bring the people living in the outlying villages to safety. Within the walls of Camelot, frantic activity was taking place, weapons and armour collected and supplies stored away. Following the advice of Gwen and his knights, Arthur had decided to meet the armies of the other Pendragon out on the battlefield instead of waiting for them to storm the city.

Reports came back within the hour of an army made up of only a few hundred men, and the knights of Camelot laughed in the face of this new threat, knowing the victory would be an easy one. But Arthur had learned that nothing was below his sister's scheming tricks and that she would not march on Camelot virtually unprepared. There had to be something else.

It was a King's duty to lead his men as they stepped out into battle, so it was Arthur who stood tall and proud at the head of his armies as they made their way to intercept the forces of his sister. Now it seemed crazy how relaxed the atmosphere had been. The men were nervous of course, a battle was about to be fought, but it seemed like the victory would be an easy one with minimum casualties. Arthur however was not convinced.

He rode slightly ahead of the main body of his troops, his most noble and faithful knights surrounding him. Each of the faces around him bore the same expression of worry that burdened his and each pair of eyes reflected the mistrust at what this seemingly easy victory would bring. Every man here had seen first-hand the destruction Morgana could bring and to underestimate her would be a mistake they would not live to regret.

"Arthur." Leon's voice was wary, as if he was not sure if he should voice his fears to his king. "Do you really think it will be as easy as the patrols say? If there really are only a few hundred men like they say, surely whatever Morgana's powers are we are bound to win?"

Arthur's face remained dark, his brows furrowed in worry. "Let's hope so Leon. But where my sister is concerned…" He ignored the flashes of surprise on the faces of his knights as he referred to the witch as his sister.

"Where my sister is concerned you can never be too careful. She is powerful and she is never below dirty tricks and foul play. You can be sure we won't be facing her on even terms, no matter how the odds look now." If only he had known back then exactly how unfair the odds would be.

"Cheer up princess." Gwaine's irritatingly cheerful voice broke through Arthur's thoughtful silence and inwardly Arthur rolled his eyes at the other knight. Only Gwaine could be cheerful in a situation like this.

"This battle will be over by midday and I'll be back in the tavern by the time the night falls."

This brought a smile to everyone in the general vicinity; they all knew that the words were perfectly true. There was nothing Gwaine loved more when he came home from a hard won battle than to burst into the nearest tavern and start a fight with someone else. Now, as he stood ankle deep in the mud, rain plastering his face, long after the night had set in and lightning lit up the inky blackness of the sky, Arthur wished that was the case. The last Arthur had seen of his friend was of a limp, but thankfully still breathing body, being dragged out of the heart of the battle by a fellow knight.

Another foe swung his blade towards him and Arthur parried the blow, twisting his opponent's sword out of his hand, then running him through with his trusted blade. While he was distracted two more opponents had sneaked up behind him and Arthur heard their battle cries too late, but by the time he had turned they were already down and it was an easy job to finish them off. Arthur's insane good luck had continued throughout the entire battle. He thought he knew who to thank for that. But if his friend was here, if he really was looking out for the armies of Camelot like a guardian angel, then he was their last hope. Men they could defeat. Magic they could not.

They had come, like demons in the night, pouring down from every corner of the battlefield. The reports had said a few hundred, but this was ten times more than that. Hordes of bloodthirsty of men, but not like men Arthur had ever seen before. They shimmered, glowed with the light of the magic they were shielded in, blending almost perfectly into the night. If they were hard to see, they were even harder to kill, each blow seeming to have little effect, lessened by the shield that was protecting them. Arthur was sure he knew who was casting it. Morgana's powers, it seemed, had grown.

Arthur fought his way across the rain soaked field, dodging vicious blows and swipes, intent only on reaching the source of the power and destroying it. If he could take down the protection these men held, his armies would have a chance at victory. But while his sister still cast her enchantments down on them, that chance was disappearing by the second.

She was standing on top of a raised hill, overlooking the full scale of the battle with cold, calculating eyes. Every now and then, a knight of Camelot would come too close to her perch and she would send him spinning away to fall, broken on the rocks at her feet. But when Arthur approached, she allowed him to make his way towards her, stopping with only feet between them, the two Pendragons facing each other with the same amounts of betrayal and loathing reflected in their eyes. They ignored the rest of the battle raging around them, focused only on each other.

Arthur was about to raise his sword to strike her down, but something made him falter. A tug down in his chest, a reminder that this was not just another enemy that he should kill without a moment's thought. Morgana had been his sister in all but blood, arguing, fighting and loving each other with the passion that only siblings can have. The playful bickering, the risks they took for each other, they had shared everything. There was nothing he wouldn't have done for her and any man foolish enough to harm her would have been met with the full force of his wrath.

Of course, that was all gone now. They had been brother and sister in all but blood. But when the truth had been revealed and they found that that they were brother and sister in all, everything they had held dear disappeared as quickly as the innocence of the truth.

But still in his heart, Arthur felt the strange twinge of sadness and he prepared to kill his greatest enemy and his beloved sister. And though he did not know it Morgana felt it too. It was just, she didn't care anymore.

Arthur swung his sword down, his blow prepared to strike her down where she stood. But Morgana just raised her hand and the blade stopped, caught by and invisible shield. Struggling, Arthur pulled on his weapon, trying to free it from her grasp but it was stuck, caught, seemingly, on air. With a casual flick of her hand, Morgana sent it spinning away across the hillside, then stepped forward and raised her hand again. A golden gleam lit up her irises and Arthur was sent flying backwards, crashing into one of the many boulders that littered the face of the hill.

Darkness swam in his eyes for a few seconds and a ringing pierced his skull. Spots danced across his vision and he thought for a moment he was going to pass out. By the time he had recovered Morgana had walked, almost lazily across to meet him. Struggling to stand, Arthur grasped for the dagger he kept strapped to his side. Morgana just smiled, her eyes flashing gold for a second time, and Arthur found himself pinned back against the rock, able to move his head but nothing more.

"Coward." He spat at her, desperately trying to move from her grasp. "You may be a witch but you used to have more honour than this. Are you going to kill me while I'm defenceless? Why don't you fight me without your magic tricks? Why don't you fight me fairly? Why don't you fight me like the person you used to be?"

"Because Arthur." He voice was filled with malice and hatred at the figure before her. "This is the person I am _now_. Your gift may be with the sword, but what use is that, next to the most powerful sorceress in the world. Why would I fight you with steel when I can kill you with magic. Like father, like son."

"Why Morgana." Arthur's voice had switched from hate-filled rage to a sort of pleading. "Why are you doing this? Revenge? Hatred? Would you really destroy an entire city just to get what you want?" He knew the answer even before she spoke it.

"Of course." There it was, the bitter, twisted loathing that had slowly built inside her from all the years of lies, the years of betrayal, until it had all come spilling out in a torrent of hatred. For him, for Camelot, for everything that she had lost, that had been taken from her. "This time it's my turn Arthur. This time I win."

For Morgana, she drew a sick kind of pleasure, watching her brother, helplessly trapped within her power. It was almost a shame, this great and mighty warrior lying at her feet, defeated at last. It seemed too easy. But even in defeat he was still stubbornly defiant and it almost made her smile.

"You'll never win Morgana. Never. No matter how powerful you are, no matter how many armies you create. You'll never win."

"And why is that, dear brother. I have already won, surely you must know that?" She looked out over the destruction she had created before her and knew that her armies were winning, steadily pushing the opposing force back towards Camelot's gates. "Nothing and no-one can defeat me anymore." This time she did smile because she knew it was perfectly true. This time she would win.

But to her anger, Arthur still did not accept his failure. In fact, he seemed slightly amused by her, a new hope springing into his battle hardened face.

"You're not going to win Morgana. Not today, not ever. There is still someone who can defeat you. There's always someone who can defeat you."

"And who is that." Morgana snapped. Suddenly, gloating over Arthur seemed like a bad idea. She should just kill him now while she had the chance. "Don't try and fool me with arrogant tales of false hope and victory. The only reason you have survived this long, the only reason you have not been slain by my hand years ago was because of _Emrys_. And now he is gone and your last hope gone with him."

She noted the brief look of pain that flashed over Arthur's face and laughed. "Did you think I would not know? Word travels quickly through the people of magic and rumours even faster. I have heard how the mighty sorcerer died. Some say through battles, some say destiny, others say by your hand. Personally, I like the latter best. The great Arthur Pendragon, killing his saviour for the crime that gave him his own life." Briefly she looked at Arthur, half hoping to get an explanation, more to gloat over, but he held his tongue, face unreadable.

"All of the druids mourn at the passing of Emrys but I rejoice. There is no-one that can stop me now, from taking you, from taking Camelot, from taking everything. I am the most powerful being alive, the most powerful who will ever live. Emrys has gone and I have won."

She expected him to crumble, to accept defeat and die with dignity. But still Arthur smiled and still he taunted her with words that could not possibly hold any meaning.

"Is that really what you think? Don't flatter yourself Morgana, powerful you may be but the most powerful? Surely you must know by the amount of times you have lost that that cannot possibly be true." Anger boiled up inside her and she had to restrain herself from killing her brother where he lay, held back only by the thought that the death she had planned for him was far more public and far more painful. But still, she could not let the insult go unnoticed.

Arthur winced as the blade of a dagger swung down, slicing the side of his face and leaving a trail of bright red blood glistening in its path. He hissed in pain and struggled to move but still he was pinned down by the weight of the magic that held him bound. Crouching down beside him, Morgana rested the dagger under his chin, pressing to his throat and whispered into his ear, her voice laced with malice, enjoying his helplessness.

"I am the most powerful sorceress to ever live, more powerful than you and your armies combined. Now that Emrys is gone, no-one can thwart me any longer. Don't taunt me Arthur Pendragon, when I can do things that you could only dream of. I could summon thunder and lightning and blast Camelot into a thousand pieces, leaving it nothing more than smouldering rubble. I could command the sea and bring it crashing down over this land, destroying everything in its path. I can raise hills and flatten mountains."

The wind that was whipping around them seemed to gain in strength, drowning out all noise of the battle and encasing them in a protective shield of magic. The dagger pressed harder into his throat as Morgana finally let all of her emotions spill out, all of her passion and hate and pain spoken into the ear of her enemy.

This was her time of victory, her time of triumph. Within minutes her brother's army would be dead at her feet and she would march into Camelot and take the throne. After so many years of being defeated by Emrys, her unknown greatest enemy, she finally had the chance to take her revenge. She finally had the chance to win.

"I hold more power in my hand than your puny mind will ever know. The sun and the moon would rise on my command and set on my wish. I can bring darkness to even the brightest day and I can destroy the shadows with a single flick of my hand. Nothing can stop me now, least of all you, _brother. _I am taking back what is rightfully mine, like I should have a long time ago. And there is nothing you can do to prevent it. I fear nothing brother because now I live in the shadows and rule the night and there is no-one left to stop me."

She was breathing heavily; her eyes alight with a mad kind of triumph, glowing with the knowledge of her victory. She gazed down into the face of her weak, pathetic brother, expecting to see awe or terror reflected in his eyes. Instead, a sly smile was creeping over his lips and his eyes were sparkling with the beginnings of laughter.

"Oh but Morgana." His voice was almost mocking, his eyes not fixed on her but beyond her shoulder at the darkness creeping in around them. "Didn't anyone ever tell you? You should always be scared of the shadows."

That was the last thing Morgana heard before she was flung backward, slamming into the rocks and sliding down to lie still. Pain exploded in her head and she couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything to protect herself from the figure that was now bearing down on her. The pain was unbearable, overwhelming, threatening to drag her down into unconsciousness.

She didn't understand how this could have happened. How one minute she had been on the brink of victory and the next trapped in a haze of pain. How, even at the moment of her triumph, Arthur had found a way to beat her. She braced herself, expecting any minute to feel the sharp stab of pain as a blade sliced through her stomach and the gloating face of Arthur, victorious once again would swim into her vision.

But when the figure before her drew nearer and she could focus on the face, she saw that it was not Arthur that stood before her, her doom once again. Through her blurry, unfocused vision, she could see a face, a face that had haunted her nightmares and plagued her waking thoughts from the moment she had heard his name. It was the face of one she thought she had been rid of forever and one that brought terror rushing into her soul, like a waking nightmare.

"Not…possible…" She managed to whisper, before the pain overcame her and she slipped down into the darkness.

**See that review button down there. Every time you click it, Arthur gives Merlin a hug. And we all know Merlin needs all the hugs he can get! So come on, be nice to poor Merlin. **


	3. Fear of the Dark

Fear of the Dark

Flickering candlelight shone around the darkened room, sending the shadows dancing. Though the night had fully fallen and darkness had filled the air, this one room was lit brighter than daylight, shining with the light of hundreds of candles. In addition to the candles perched on every available surface and hanging suspended from the ceiling, several magical orbs of light floated in the air around the room, casting an eerie mix of blue and orange light and sending the room into a kaleidoscope of colour.

Aside from the hundreds of sources of light, there really was not much else in the sparsely decorated room. Just a single bed and crouched on it, arms wrapped protectively around herself, a woman dressed in a ragged black dress.

Although she sat completely motionless, her limbs seemingly locked in place, her eyes darted restlessly around the room, taking in every detail, never stopping. They were lined with dark, livid shadows from lack of sleep and the skin around them was pale and unhealthy looking.

A sudden creaking interrupted the oppressive silence of the room and Morgana whipped round, knife in hand, tensed for an attack. Her defensive position relaxed slightly as she took in the man standing nervously in the corridor. He was dressed in the common clothes of the guards and seemed to pose no immediate threat. She fractionally lowered the knife and motioned for him to come in.

"My lady." His voice quavered slightly as he glanced around at the windowless room and the hundreds of pinpricks of light pushing the shadows into the far corners, around to the fierce, wild-looking woman before him.

"Mordred has arrived. He requested to see you." The guard waited for a reply and when he got none gave a slight cough. "Should I let him in?"

Silently, Morgana slid her knife back into its sheath and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Bowing low, the guard hurried out of the room, letting out a relieved breath as he did so. He was one of the lucky ones. Entering the Lady Morgana's room was one of the most dangerous things one of his fellow guards could do and that was including going head on with the armies of Camelot. If they hadn't been so terrified of the boy Mordred, most of the guards would have been content to just nail up the door and leave the room for good.

Passing him in the corridor was a small, cloaked figure and the guard instinctively flinched and pressed himself to the wall to make room. Ice blue eyes met his and held him in a look of cool indifference before the figure swept passed, towards the door the guard had just left. Mordred had arrived.

It took all the guard's power to stop himself sprinting away as fast as he could. Mordred may not be the leader of the rebels, but he was by far the most powerful and the most feared. Get on the wrong side of him and you wouldn't live to see another dawn. And he was fiercely protective over the Lady Morgana although no-one knew why.

Averting his eyes, the guard hurried away, glad to be away from the cursed place. It was the rumour around the camp that the Lady Morgana was haunted by demons. He had to admit from the feel of the room that he agreed.

"Morgana." Mordred slipped inside the room, pulling down the hood of his cloak and revealing his shadowed face. The face was very different to the scared little boy that had been smuggled out of Camelot by a group of loyal friends so many years ago. The cheekbones were harder and more defined, the face changed from a young boy into a young man. Even the eyes had changed. Though they were still the same piercing blue, they were no longer the eyes of a child. Something had ignited within them, some would say cruelty, some power and some a spark of insanity. Whatever it was this was someone to be feared.

But as he entered the room, Mordred seemed to lose his dangerous air and shrink back into something like the little boy he had been so many years ago. He and Morgana shared a special bond, he was the son she never had and she the mother he never knew.

They took care of each other and neither of them would ever let anything harm the other. That was why he hated seeing her in this state so much. Such a great and powerful sorceress, hiding, terrified in a guarded room. Hiding from a terror that no-one, not even he, understood.

"Morgana. The scouts have returned with good news. We move out tomorrow and by dusk we will have struck. By dawn tomorrow, Camelot will be ours. You must prepare to leave. We will need your power and when we have killed Arthur, you will sit on the throne of Camelot as queen."

For a second he thought she wasn't going to respond but then she stood up, drawing herself to her full height and looking much more like the Morgana he used to know. His presence in the room seemed to reassure her and give her strength.

"Good." Her voice seemed strong and self-assured but her eyes remained nervous, still restlessly flickering around the room. She walked over to Mordred and put her arm around him, reminding them both of the day they met. But unlike that day, Mordred could feel the slight tremble in her hand and the fear in her presence.

He lifted his hand and touched her cheek, stroking it in a gesture that was almost like love. And maybe it was, maybe even the evilest of people have someone they care about. "Morgana, what's wrong? Our last plan may not have worked but this time we are guaranteed to succeed. Nothing can stop us. What have you to be scared of?" He knew the answer even before she opened her mouth.

"It's _him._ He's there. He's always there. Watching me. Listening to our every move, our every plan. Whatever I do, he can always defeat me. I can't see him. I can't hear him. But I can sense him. In the shadows, waiting till I let my guard down. It's Emrys, Mordred. He won't leave me alone."

Mordred bit back a sigh and looked up into the eyes of the woman he saw as his mother. He would do anything to protect her, but this time there was nothing he could do. He couldn't fight something from Morgana's imagination. He couldn't fight a shadow.

"Emrys is dead Morgana. You know that." It was as if their positions had been reversed and she was the child, desperately looking for reassurance and he was the adult giving it.

"The druid elders have confirmed it. He's dead, dead and gone. No-one stands in our way. You shouldn't fear a dead man. He can't hurt you. He isn't here. He exists just in your imagination. He's not real, not anymore."

"But I saw him." Morgana's voice had dropped to a whisper and her hand tightened painfully on his arm. "He was there, in front of me. If you hadn't come and saved me he would have killed me, I know it. He's my doom Mordred, he always has been. I can't escape him. Not even when he's dead. He's always lurking in the shadows waiting for me. Every plan we make fails because of him. It's always him."

"Luck Morgana. Your brother has an annoying amount of good luck and that's the only reason he's managed to defeat us these past months. Chance ruins even the best laid plans. But that's all it is. Luck and chance, not the ghost of Emrys. You won Morgana, when he died and you still live. But if you let his memory haunt you like this then he will have won. Don't let yourself be beaten by a dead man."

Morgana smiled down at him and he saw some of her old confidence and power returning. Mordred smiled back but he was unsure if he really had managed to convince her. Not that it mattered. By tomorrow they would rule Camelot and after that, the whole of Albion. Then she would see that he had been right and there was nothing to be afraid of.

"I'll come for you in the morning. We ride at dawn." He slid the hood of his cloak back over his head, throwing his face back into shadow and slipped out of the door into the corridor beyond. Closing the door behind him, Morgana walked quietly back over to the bed and sat down, reassured by the flames of the candles.

Mordred was right. There was nothing to be scared of. By tomorrow she would have her rightful place on the throne and nothing could stop her. Emrys was dead. All the glimpses, the whispered words, the sights from the corner of her eye. They were all from her imagination. They weren't real. He wasn't real.

Laying her head back on her pillow she closed her eyes, grateful at the chance for sleep. There was nothing to be scared of. Nightmares were for the weak, naïve person she had been when she still didn't know the full extent of her power. The terrors that had haunted her in the night these past few weeks would disappear as soon as she crushed the weakness she had felt at closing her eyes and accepted that there was nothing haunting her in the shadows.

It was just as she was drifting in the strange place between consciousness and dreams that it happened. Just as she had managed to convince herself that everything was fine and that Mordred was right that she heard it. It was quiet, so quiet that had the room not been so silent she wouldn't have noticed it at all.

It was a laugh. A single low chuckle that echoed softly around the room and pierced straight through to her heart, sending a stab of fear to her soul. She knew that laugh. She knew that voice. It was him. He was here again.

In an instant Morgana was completely awake, knife in hand, staring wildly around the room, looking for the source of the sound. She couldn't find it. The flames of the candles lit up the whole room of the room but the very edges which were cast into shadow. And there was no-one there. She was completely alone.

Except she knew she wasn't. She could feel it. She could feel him, her doom once again, laughing at her futile attempts to persuade herself that he was dead and gone and that he would finally leave her alone. He would never leave her alone. She would never be rid of him as long as she lived.

For the rest of her life, Morgana slept with one eye open, in a room filled with light, constantly watching the shadows. To many it seemed like an irrational fear, scared of a person who was long dead, the imaginary ghost who existed only in her mind. But after they were defeated time and time again, the rumour grew and soon it was common knowledge that there was a curse upon all those who sought ill of Camelot and that those who tried to send harm in any form to that kingdom would be forever haunted by a demon who existed only in the darkness.

Even Mordred came to fear it. For all his power, even he couldn't destroy a shadow.

Morgana is brave. She is a highly skilled warrior and a master swordswoman (and whatever Arthur says, she did used to beat him back when they were young). She is a powerful sorceress and a priestess of the old religion. She does not fear her brother or his army or the castle in which she was raised and knows is almost impossible to breach. She does not fear battles and fighting where she fights mortal men with weapons of steel. She does not even fear fighting battles with other sorcerers, knowing she is the most powerful of all. There is only one thing she is truly scared of, the one thing that haunted her until the day she died.

Morgana Pendragon was scared of the dark.

It is not the darkness we fear. What we fear is what lurks within the shadows out of sight, the monster under the bed, the terror that we cannot see.

**AN- Good? Bad? Review? Hug? I'll love you forever if you do.**

**PS- Merlin says thanks for all the hugs from last chapter. He is very pleased with all of you but he still won't talk to me. Probably because I killed him off in the first chapter and then proceeded to be mean to him the rest of the story but you never know. Maybe he just doesn't like me. He likes all of you though. Be honoured.**


	4. The Greatest Gift

The Greatest Gift of All

There is a celebration in Camelot today. Flags flutter and ripple in the streets and the people dress in their brightest and most festive clothes, turning the streets into riots of colour. Shouts of laughter can be heard drifting up from every corner of the city and trumpets blare, adding their tuneful notes to the din. Drums are played, rattled to a beat while performers dance and sing down the street to the widened eyes of the children.

The whole of Camelot seems to be in the brightest of moods and this day seems like a pleasant one for everyone. Up at the castle, banners are being hung and the great hall is being laid out for a feast. Down in the kitchens the mood is riled and tense as dish after dish of food is prepared in a desperate rush to make it in time for the banquet. But even as they fret and worry, the cheerful mood reaches even here and a smile can be seen on every face.

There is a party afoot and everyone in Camelot is in celebration. Everyone but one. One person sits alone, gazing out across the festivities with no joy in his heart. One person cannot bring himself to smile, cannot bring himself to face the crowds and the parades. Not today.

If it were not for the faint rise and fall of his chest the man could be a statue, locked deep in his own thoughts and his own pain. Today was not a day of celebration, it was a day of mourning, though no-one seemed to realise. He was shut up in his own room, lock away from the world in solitude. But not for long.

Breaking the silence, the door behind him creaked open, revealing a young woman who walked cautiously into the room as if she was unsure whether she should be there at all. She was dressed in the fine sweeping gowns of a lady and her face carried all the pride of the noblewoman and queen that she was. But there was something in her eyes, in the way she held herself that revealed the truth. Relaxed, loose, completely unlike the stiff, proper court nobles she was surrounded with. She gave off an undeniable air of approachability and comfort that seemed to fill a room with its warmth. But today she was nervous, looking very young and insecure standing in the open doorway.

The figure by the window didn't acknowledge her presence but he did look up as a soft had slipped onto his shoulder, hoping to bring him some form comfort. He acknowledged the touch but still did not speak, preferring to still gaze out the window at the festivities beyond.

"Arthur…" Gwen bit her lip, not sure how to continue but knowing she must do so none the less. She did not want to interrupt his vigil of silence but she needed him now.

"You have to come now. They're all waiting for you, for your speech. Then you have to get ready for the banquet tonight. Lords have arrived from all over the kingdom to attend. You can't sit here locked up in your room forever. The celebrations are being held in your honour. It is your birthday after all. You have to come out."

"I can't." Spoken so softly and without emotion the words still carried the deep weight of meaning. "I can't go out and face them all. Not today. How can I pretend to be happy, a good strong King, on a day like this? I can't do it Gwen. I just can't."

"Arthur…"

"Please, don't." The words came out sharper than he intended and he instantly regretted it but carried on regardless. "I can't celebrate today. Every year it was the same, the endless parties and parades when I could feel no enjoyment because I knew this was not a day to celebrate. I spent years watching my father play to the crowds, giving me expensive gifts and grand feasts whilst all the time he was dead behind the eyes. Because no matter how much he loved me, he could never forget what this day meant to him."

He let out a deep sigh and glanced back out of the window, eyes far off into the past. Gwen made as if to speak but Arthur cut her off, resuming his original train of thought.

"My mother died today. Because of me. The day when I took my first breath was the day she took her last. And my father could never forget that. And then on the one birthday I though he really cared, the one time I saw light in his eyes on the celebration of the day I was born, an assassin was sent to kill me. And he failed. But not before my father had taken the mortal blow. For me. He may not have died that day but that was when his fate was sealed. Do you see Gwen, why I can't go out and celebrate today? Because both my parents died today. Both my parents died on my birthday."

He lapsed back into silence and it took a few moments before the it was broken once again.

"I know it's hard Arthur. I understand. But you still need to go, no matter what you feel. You need to be strong and pretend nothing is wrong, for your people's sake if not your own. You just have to…"

"Don't you understand." His voice had taken on a tone she had never heard before and it was one she did not like in the slightest. It was bitter and cold and filled with sadness and raw emotion.

"Both my parents _died_ today, Gwen. I can't go out and celebrate, making speeches and hosting banquets knowing that. Why can't I just be left alone to grieve?" He saw the look on her face and turned away with a sigh.

"Never mind. You wouldn't understand."

"Don't you say that Arthur Pendragon. Don't you dare say that." He looked up surprised at the anger burning in her voice and saw with shock that Gwen looked furious, cheeks flushed with colour. The change in her attitude was so unexpected that it shocked him into silence.

"I lost my parents too you know. My mother died in childbirth just like yours. And my father died just like yours when I couldn't save him. So don't you ever say I don't understand. I know how you feel Arthur, better than anyone. But did you see me moping around on that day, on the anniversary of _their_ deaths? Do you see me shut up in my room refusing to move? No. I got up and I got on with my life, because I had to. So you get out of this room and do your duty as King of Camelot or so help me I will drag you out there myself."

"I'm sorry Gwen. I…forgot. I forgot you had suffered too" Arthur realised as he said it how pathetic his excuse sounded. Of course Gwen knew what he was going through. But then again, it had been different for her. She didn't have to live with the burden that not only had his parents died, they had died for him. That it was his fault.

"It just brings it all back, the parties, the parades. Reminding me the price I had to pay to become King in the first place. And I miss them. There are so many things I wish I had said. And now I'll never get the chance."

"I know Arthur." He felt a cool soft touch and felt her hand slide into his, squeezing it comfortingly. "I feel the same. I would give anything to see them, one last time. To talk to them, tell them how much I love them, say all the things I wished I had said. But it's no use dwelling on dreams. You have to live and move on, no matter how much it hurts."

"That would truly be the greatest gift of all. To see them again." Arthur's eyes gazed off into the distance, imagining. He had been presented with many impressive presents for his birthday over the years, but to him they meant nothing. But to see his family again. He would give anything for even just a minute to be with them once more.

There were so many things left unsaid, so many things he needed to know. He needed to tell them he was sorry, for not being able to save them. He needed to tell them how much he loved them and he needed them to tell him back. Most of all he needed to know that he had made his father proud, that he had become the king Uther expected him to be. He needed to know that it was worth it, in the end.

But it was as Gwen said. It was no use dwelling on an impossible dream. His parents were gone, gone to a place he could not reach, and sitting in his bedchamber pining wouldn't help anyone.

"Come on." Gwen stood and pulled him up with her, a smile beginning to grow on her face. "I have a banquet to prepare and you have a speech to make. The city is waiting."

A guilty look flashed across Arthur's face and his eyebrows drew together in almost comical worry. "Gwen…about the speech…I may have um…forgotten to write one." He glanced up to gauge her reaction, expecting her to be angry but she was still smiling, a hint of laughter glinting in her eyes.

"Don't worry. Elyan has one waiting just down the corridor. I knew you'd forget so I took the liberty of writing it myself. Just don't change anything, you know how much of a disaster that is."

"You're a life saver Gwen."

"And don't I know it. Now go, you've kept them waiting long enough." She pushed him away and out into the corridor laughing. He moved forward with her but when she had disappeared out of sight round the corridor he stopped for a moment to gather his breath. He could do this. He knew he could. It was just another normal day. He could get through it. Just as long as he didn't remember.

And he succeeded. It was only later that night, as the sun slipped down from the heavens and the moon began its ark into the sky that he thought of them again. The day had been easier than he had thought but he was acting on autopilot, with no real enthusiasm behind his words or gestures. Not that anyone noticed. The people only saw what they wanted to see and it was easy for Arthur to conceal his true thoughts.

He suspected his knights had guessed, or at least realised what was wrong though. They saw through him better than anyone and they must have noticed there was something different. But if they had, none of them had mentioned it and for that he was grateful. He didn't want to have to remember.

But now, shut in his chambers with only his own thoughts for company, he found his mind slipping back, back to the people he tried to forget. His parents. His mother's kind face, filled with love and adoration for her son. His father smiling and proud, strong and brave not like the broken shell he had been at the end. It physically hurt, how much Arthur missed them. How much he wished to see them again.

"The greatest gift of all." He whispered into the darkness. "But the one no-one can give." Then he sunk back into his pillows and let sleep overcome him.

He couldn't actually tell when the thoughts first changed into dreams. At first, they were just a blur, random snippets of thought and memories all mixed together, words and phrases jumping out only to be lost into the tide of his mind. Then the memories became longer and more vivid, full scenes playing out before his closed eyes. The first time he had ever held a sword. When he had won his first tournament and he had watched as his father had stood clapping with real pride in his eyes. The day he had been crowned prince, the monsters, the trophies he had brought back for his father to admire, all the treasured moments when the cold outer mask had slipped and Uther had told Arthur he loved him.

And his mother too. Even though he had never known her he could feel her arms wrapped around him, telling him she wouldn't have changed it for the world. He had only ever seen his mother once before but still he felt like he knew her and he loved her regardless.

And it was as if his dreams were leading him on because the further he fell into memory the clearer the feeling of love seemed to grow until he found himself looking, not at a brief flash of some long ago dream, but into the faces of his parents.

They were standing together, a little way away from him, hands clasped tight around each other. They were really there. His family. A small chocking sound filled the void around them and Arthur realised it was coming from him. He made to move towards his parents, to hug them, to touch them, to prove they were real, but like in many dreams he was frozen, unable to move or speak.

It was Ygraine who stepped forward first, walking out towards her son, Uther following in her wake. She came so close that Arthur could almost reach out and touch her but it was here she stopped, as if unable to come any further, though Arthur could see from her eyes that she wanted to.

"My son." Just two words, but they spoke more than a thousand others.

"Oh Arthur, I have missed you."

Arthur felt something hot slip down his cheek and realised with shock that it was a tear. He opened his mouth, desperate to say something but the words would not come He was frozen in this dream-like state with no will of his own.

"I do not have much time so I must be quick." Ygraine's words were rushed but the emotion was still there.

"I love you Arthur. I have waited so many years to say it. I love you with all my heart and you must never blame yourself for anything that happened to me. I love you more dearly than I loved my own life, and in the few seconds when I held you in my arms I knew, it was worth it."

This is a dream, Arthur told himself. Just a dream. But it felt so real.

"Arthur." It was Uther this time who stepped forward, again not quite touching his son but coming so very, very close.

"I know that I have handed over to you a heavy burden. And I know that there is much I must apologise for. I realise that sometimes I treated you wrongly and I was blinded to your true feelings. But never doubt that I love you. And I am proud to call you my son.

Another streak of damp slid down over Arthur's cheek to join the first. He wanted to reach out. To hug his parents and never let them go. To tell them he loved them too and he missed them and he was so, so sorry. But he could not move, left floating in the darkness of his own head, frozen within his mind.

"We have to leave Arthur, we cannot stay. But remember what we have said. Keep it in your heart forever and know that one day, we will meet again."

No. They couldn't go. Not yet. He couldn't lose his parents a second time after only just regaining them again. But already they were turning and walking away, through the blackness and out to a place where he could not follow. He wanted to call out, to say something but the words stuck in his throat and he could only watch as they grew smaller and smaller, hands still locked together and smiles still alive on their faces.

As one they turned for a final time and regarded Arthur with eyes full of love and sorrow and all the things left unsaid. It was Uther who spoke for the last time, looking more peaceful and content than Arthur had ever known him in life.

"Goodbye son."

Then Arthur's parents turned and walked away together into the shadows, the darkness swallowing them whole once more.

Arthur awoke, panting and clutching the sheets he had twisted around himself, heart racing and looking desperately around for a sign of his parents. He saw none. A few streaks of pink had begun to light up the darkened sky and he realised that it was dawn. He was in his room, in Camelot and a new day was beginning.

It was just a dream. He told himself. Just a dream. But still he could feel the damp streak on his cheek, left from a single tear. Just a dream. But such a good one. Knowing his parents loved him, that they were proud, it would mean more than anything else in the world to him. Just a dream. But oh who he wished it was reality.

He had to let it go. It had just been his mind playing tricks on him, showing him what he most wished to see. Those weren't his real parents. Real people don't come back from the dead, not even to say goodbye.

Arthur stretched and swung his legs out of bed, unwilling to get up but resigned all the same. He had a training session planned with his knights today and he was determined to make up for lost time. And there were still all of those reports he had to fill in by the evening. The thought made Arthur groan and he glanced over loathingly at his desk where all the papers were stacked.

It took him a while to register what was out of place in the picture. His mind knew there was something wrong but it took him a few seconds to place it. Lying on the desk was a piece of parchment and quill with ink still glistening at the tip resting beside it. The desk had been clear when he had got into bed the night before. There was only one reason that a message would be there now. Only one person who could have written it.

In an instant, Arthur had scrambled over to his desk and snatched up the parchment, scanning his eyes over the message, desperate to read what it said. Messages from his friend were few and far between but when they came they always came when Arthur needed them the most. So it was a surprise to see this one now. The kingdom was not in peril. Arthur did not need advice. So why the message.

It was very short, and for a second Arthur was puzzled at what it could mean. It made no sense and it certainly didn't seem very important. But then real realisation hit him and Arthur fell into his chair, almost unable to believe it was true. But then that was Merlin, always surprising him. Always helping him. And always doing the one thing that he knew would mean more to Arthur than anything else in the world.

Scribbled on the paper clutched in Arthur's hand were two sentences. Two sentences that carried more meaning than any other.

_**Never underestimate your dreams Arthur**_

_**Happy Birthday **_

And Arthur knew that Merlin had given him the greatest gift of all.

**AN- Thoughts? Reviews?**


	5. The Last Dragon

The Last Dragon

**AN-Am I the only one who ever feels a little bit sorry for the Great Dragon? I know he's really annoying and never gives Merlin a straight answer, but he has been through quite a lot in his life and it seems over the last series in particular that he has actually grown to care for Merlin. And now he has Athuisa, but in the legends the white dragon is evil and the red dragon kills it. So unless another white dragon turns up, Athusia is probably going to die and Kilgharrah's probably going to be the one to kill him. Which is pretty hard on him.**

**So this chapter is written based on the fact that no-one ever seems to care about Kilgharrah (I don't like him all that much but he has feelings too). I mention him in The Hopes and Dreams but I never wrote about how he felt about Merlin's death. And after rewatching episode one in series four with his little speech about how "It will be an empty world without you," I though he deserved to have something written for him. Also, I'm sorry for it being so short, but I was trying to write it in the style of a fairytale and I didn't want to just retell what we already know. So I hope you enjoy it and I'd love to hear what you think about Kilgharrah, even if you hate him.**

There is a legend, lost to the ages of time, about a dragon. A great powerful beast,strong and wise but the very last of his kind. No-one knows where he came from but he has lived for many thousands of years and is the oldest creature on earth. And he is completely alone.

This was not always so. Once upon a time, long, long ago, the dragon lived in peace with his family and friends. He had great power and together with his dragonlord, they became the most respected magical creatures in all of the land, protecting the people they loved. For a long time the dragon was happy.

But even with all his powers of prediction the dragon did not foresee the tragedy that would befall him and the rest of his kind. And it was too late when he discovered the truth, too late to save his friends, too late to save his family and he was left in the cold and dark as the very last of his race, unhappy and alone.

Some say he could always sense the direction destiny wished to go. Others say it was the loss of all others in his kind that gave him his power to read the will of fate. All that is known now is that he was given the power to see everything and the power to prevent nothing. He was bound to forever watch and advise but never able to stop what he knew was to come.

This was how he first met the warlock of legends, through cryptic messages and obscure answers, knowing what destiny wanted and complying with its will. But this was where the dragon's life changed because he sensed the power within the man before him and realised he had not just found a fellow creature of magic but he had found his kin. He was no longer the last of his kind anymore.

Over the years he found he grew to care more and more for the warlock until it seemed they were almost friends. Almost.

For the dragon knew more than he could ever tell about the warlock's fate, all the hardships and tragedy he would face. He knew the consequences of the warlock's actions but was bound forever to never be able to change them.

And he had to stand by and watch as the loss and betrayal came crashing down. A witch to a king, a queen to a king, a druid to a warlock, a witch to a warlock, a knight to a king, a warlock to a king and finally a dragon to a dragon. For aside from finding kin in the warlock, the last dragon was given a chance to not be the last dragon anymore. But he was betrayed by the one he was most desperate to protect and was forced to destroy him in order to save the kingdom he was trying to build. It was what destiny decided.

And in the end the dragon lost all of his kin once again. The dragon he raised to protect he was forced to destroy, to protect the destiny that was written. And the warlock who he had come to see as a friend was taken from him by destiny and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He had watched as the warlock had grown, more powerful and loyal than any before him, and had seen the bright future he held. And he had watched as it was all snatched away by destiny, taking the warlock with it and leaving the dragon alone again.

He watched as the kingdom he had hoped and dreamed for come into being, a place where he and his kind could be free. But he felt no joy any longer for all his kin were gone and there was no-one left to be free with. He had lost all his family once again.

And this is where the story comes to an end. The last dragon was only seen once more or so the story goes, by a king. They spoke for a long time, though no-one knows what about, then the dragon flew away up into the sky and was never seen again.

Some say he died. Some say the betrayal of the other dragon and the death of the warlock ended his centuries old life when he had nothing left to live for. But most people seem to think he is still alive out there somewhere, waiting. Some say he sleeps in a great cave far beneath the ground, others high on a mountain where no creature can reach. But all seem to agree that he waits.

Waits for the end, or the beginning, no-one is quite sure. Whether he waits for the warlock to be reborn again as some legends say he will be, or if he knows this will not happened and just waits for the end to his long and tragic life when he can finally pass into the world beyond. All anyone seems to agree on is that the warlock has long ago moved on from this life and the last dragon waits for the day when he will see him again.

The End


	6. The Prince of Magic

Prince of Magic

The night was cold, a faint wind sweeping through the deserted courtyard and rustling the tips of the leaves on the trees, sending a few spiralling down into the darkness. In the brightest sunlight the trees would be decked in shades of red and brow, as the autumn was finally upon them, but in the darkness of the night they were nothing more than blackened shapes, outlined against the sky.

Silence lay thick over the courtyard like a blanket, broken only by the occasional rustle from the leaves or the faint creek as the wind flitted through the gaps left by the ancient wooden doors. Somewhere, far off in the night, a dog barked, the noise sending a surprisingly loud echo around the silence of the town.

It was dark too, the night broken only by the faint shimmer of the stars and the soft glow of the moon. The people of the city were all asleep, from the oldest noble to the youngest peasant. The city was hung in the eerie time between times, the late workers having already finished the last of their jobs with grateful sighs of content, and before the early risers had yet to wearily drag themselves out of bed with the dawning of the sun.

For once in Camelot, all was quiet, all was peaceful and every window was dark. All but one.

A soft glow of yellow candlelight still spilled from the window of one of the rooms, high in the walls of the palace. To any looking up, this would not be an uncommon sight for this was the room of the young prince of Camelot and his nights were rarely peaceful. Rumours had it that he suffered from terrible nightmares, a gift inherited from his aunt, horrible visions that plagued his sleeping hours. Many servants had heard his strangled, sleep-distorted yells and cries, but it was only his mother, with her soft words of comfort that could ever calm him down.

"Hush child, hush." A soft brown hand stroked the smooth, tear-stained face, a finger gently wiping away the tears that threatened to spill from the crystal blue eyes. "It's alright. It was just a dream. Only a dream."

"But it was so scary." The boy replied, his face half covered by the blankets he was nestled in. "There was a monster, really big with claws and fangs, and Father was fighting it but it was too strong and…and…" he hiccupped himself into silence and continued to nestle into the blankets by his mother's side.

"Don't be scared, my son." The queen whispered, still gently stroking his face. She loved him more than she loved life itself and it pained her to see him in such a sorry state. "It was just a dream. You know full well that no real harm will come to your father."

This time, when her son looked up at her, his eyes were inquisitive, if a little accusatory. "But how can you know that?" His voice was a mixture of pleading for her to sooth his fears and the terror that his fears were right. "You know that some of the things I see have truly come to pass. You know what Gaius says about me." He sniffed a little and hugged his blanket tight.

"The dreams scare me. Why can't I just be _normal_ like other people?"

His mother sighed and ran her hands through his short dark hair. While he had inherited his light skin and blue eyes from his father, his mop of darken curls could have only come from her. To her, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Don't you ever say that about yourself." Her voice was soft but it concealed a sharper edge. "You are _special _my son. There is nothing wrong with that. You should be proud of your gifts, not ashamed. Everyone has a purpose in this world and yours was always a great destiny. Never wish yourself to be anything less than what you truly are."

Her son smiled and the tension seemed to leave his tiny shoulders. But the queen still felt a twinge of guilt, having to burden a child so young with a burden so great. But then again, what future king of Camelot didn't have to be burdened at such a young age. For all their power and wealth, in a way the peasants who served them had a much luckier life. She had been like that once, a simple life for a girl who loved simple things. She had never wanted power or sought after riches. But she would not give up her queenship for anything because now it meant that she could support the man she loved and protect the people she lived for.

Her son made a soft snorting sound beneath her and she realised he was again drifting off into sleep. Quietly, she picked herself off the bed and prepared to leave the room but was stopped by a small, pale hand wrapping tightly around her wrist.

"You didn't answer my question Mother." A muffled voice came from beneath the blankets. "How can you be sure Father will be safe?"

"My son, you already know the answer to that question" The queen's voice was gentle, if a little teasing. How many times have I told you the tale of Emrys and how he protects us still? He watches over us, even now and while he stays, nothing will ever hurt your father or you. He protects this land even after death itself. Do you really think such a silly thing as a little monster will defeat your father and him?"

There was no answer from the child in the bed but the queen could tell that her son had finally been convinced. She was sure that on another night, when another dream woke him in a fit of terror, she would have to repeat this, over and over again. But for now at least, her son was peaceful and calm. His soft breathing was already slowing as he began to drift back off into sleep.

The queen quietly got up and slipped softly over to the door. She almost made it out of the room before a small voice stopped her again.

"Goodnight mother."

Gwen smiled as she turned back to stare at her son. He was half covered by the darkness and only a few tufts of his dark hair stuck up from under the covers. His sleepy face looked so young and innocent and his blue eyes were already half closed. She loved him with all her heart and she could never have asked for more. He was so like her and her husband, yet he also reminder her so much of _him_. Smiling, she turned and slipped out of the room for the last time, gazing at her son and whispering,

"Goodnight Merlin."


	7. Into the Light

Into the Light

**AN- Hello again! I'm back! I've been out of wifi for quite a long time so if I didn't get a chance to reply to you last time then I'm really sorry but I appreciate it just the same. You're all awesome! And it makes me incredibly sad to say that this but this will the last ever chapter of the Sorcerer's Shadow. As in,"The end". I've loved writing this story with all my heart but I've finally lost my inspiration for it so I'm going to end it with the chapter I wrote before I wrote chapter one. So you'll know this was always the way it was going to end.**

**Thank you everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited for inspiring me all the way through this story and making me believe in myself as a writer. This chapter is dedicated to all of you.**

**Finally, I will be returning to this fandom with another story at some point (I already have one planned) but I don't want to write it until my inspiration kicks back in so it might not be until series 5 starts. But don't give up on me, i **_**will**_** be back!**

**So thank you all so much and I hope you enjoy the final chapter of the Sorcerer'Shadow. And I would love it if you reviewed one last time to tell me what you think. Of this chapter, of this story as a whole or of the ending. It was always going to end like this. But you all made it possible for me to get there.**

**Cloud-dee**

In the end, destiny is unavoidable. Though you may fight and run, struggle and do everything you can to prevent it coming true, it will always come back. Destiny will always have its way.

Many, many years ago destiny had dictated that the warlock Emrys would help the Once and Future king achieve peace and unity to the land of Albion and return magic and the balance of nature. The stubbornness and narrow-mindedness of a prince had almost changed that. But in the end Destiny had its way as it always did.

A young witch, however good her intentions were, was always destined to become the villain of legend, because it was what Destiny decreed. A beautiful peasant woman who one day roes to be queen would always betray her king, no matter how much she loved him, because that was the path destiny saw fit for her to take. And a powerful young druid boy would always kill the king, no matter how many kindnesses had been done to him, because that was his destiny.

There were only three in the world who knew of this. A silent man sat far away in a cave where time would not touch, writing out the parts before the characters had even been created, designing the turn of the world before the world had begun. A great dragon, the last of his kind, allowed to know,but never prevent, only to sit and watch as destiny unfolded. And a great friend, who had protected and served no matter the cost, and could save the one he watched from everything but fate.

From the minute he died, Merlin knew. He could look, see and predict the future, the many dangers Arthur would face and the only ways he could be saved. It was like an instinct, like the one he had used to save Arthur all his life, a gut feeling that had protected him for so many years, only this one was a thousand times stronger. He could see and plan each and every way he had to act to save Arthur's life. But he also knew, from the second breath left his body, that there was one thing he could not protect his friend from, no matter how hard he wished he could.

The once and future king was destined to die by the hands of the one he had saved, a young druid boy with steel in his eyes and ice in his heart. This was what destiny decided and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. In life, Merlin had blamed himself. For not acting, for not following the advice of his mentor and allowing an innocent child to die. But now he could see that no matter what he had done, somehow, the boy would have escaped, he would have ended up harbouring a murderous rage and he would deal the fatal blow that would strike down the greatest king to ever live.

So Merlin went about his not-life, protecting his friend, watching the kingdom grow into everything he had hoped it would be, watching his dreams come true, but all the while sensing the darkened threat of destiny lurking in the shadows behind him. But he knew that nothing happened without a purpose and if Arthur's death on the battlefield by Mordred's hand was the path chosen, well…who was he to deny the master he had served all his life. Destiny.

And he watched with a mixture of dread and anticipation as the armies of darkness amassed on last time and for the first time in his life, he was powerless to help.

For Arthur, he knew none of this. He remained as blissfully ignorant in his later life as he had been all those years ago when he had had an illegal warlock as his best friend. He continued to rule fair and just, with his beloved queen at his side. Proudly, he watched as a son of his own grew, dark-haired and strong, with his own skill with a blade and his aunt's powers in magic, although with none of the darkness that rested in her heart.

He could see that one day his son would be a great king, with his wise, fair mother to guide him, so he had no fear of death. When he marched into battle he was proud and brave, the golden dragon and Pendragon red fluttering proudly before him. And on the day of his final battle, the soldiers later recalled their final memory of him to be the greatest king they had ever know, his hair clouding his face like a golden halo and his sword flashing in the new day sun, charging them to his final, glorious victory.

And when Arthur was dealt his mortal blow, just as destiny had foretold so many years ago, the whole of Camelot mourned and Albion seemed to turn dark with the loss. But for Arthur, the day he died was not a sad one. And that was because, as he lay drawing his last breaths, through the half closed lids of his eyes, he could see a very familiar figure standing, waiting for him in the shadows. As the people surrounding him watched, Arthur smiled, a smile of true happiness, before he closed his eyes forever. And in the last few seconds of his life, he whispered just two words that would puzzle many for years to come and that none but a few would ever truly understand.

"He's here."

Then Arthur died.

The world mourned, but Arthur knew none of this, nor did he care. All he knew was that here at last, he could see his friend again. He smiled and Merlin smiled back and Arthur knew that in that moment, everything was finally alright again. He was here, really here this time, and when Arthur reached out to embrace his friend he was as solid and real as Arthur remembered him in life, not like the shadow he had later become. He wasn't alive but that didn't matter anymore. Merlin beckoned to him, then turned to walk away and Arthur followed, unknowingly leaving his body and his life behind him.

The two friends were finally reunited once more and together they walked, out of the shadows of the mortal word and into the light of Avalon.

The End


End file.
